


Dinner Games

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, slight character exploration, slight lack of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number brings Root and Shaw to a formal dinner and Shaw decides this is the perfect time to beat Root at her own game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner Games

Shaw’s uncomfortable, her restlessness evident next to a poised Root. Her hands constantly pull at her dress and she reaches out for the nearest glass of champagne.

Root’s swiftly executed reprimand rings sharp in her ribs as she drinks too quickly.

The number waits on the guests to this lavish dinner party, sometimes venturing close enough to Shaw to prompt a darting hand into action as it swipes the next drink; their target only knowing the agent for her swift grasp never feeling Shaw’s scanning eyes upon her back watching her every interaction.

Root places a gentle stilling hand on Shaw’s arm as she once again fidgets in the sheer black number she donned for the evening: Root had tried to get her in a lighter red-‘to bring out her eyes’-but she’d been met with an angry growl and a slamming door. 

Root keeps her hand in place, gently working patterns on the inside of Shaw’s arm with soft fingers and Shaw catches the amused glint in her eyes as she feels the muscles clench in Shaw's arm at the touch.

Shaw pulls her arm away in favour of another drink and tries to scan the room, but her eyes are drawn back to Root’s figure dressed in an off-the-shoulder dark blue piece, light brown fur draped around her shoulders hair cascading, waved so that it rests on her shoulders and lips laced with bright red lipstick.

Shaw can’t take her eyes off Root’s lips or the way her legs seem to go on endlessly in those Louboutin heels. 

As they sit for the meal, starters placed in front of the waiting guests, Root engages in polite conversation but when she turns to address Shaw and catches her wandering gaze she smiles like she knows the secret that will end the world and Shaw has to bite back a glare as her gaze snaps back up and Root languidly reaches for her wine, smirking.

So Shaw breaks. She decides to beat Root at her own game.

She drops her napkin.

It’s lame, she knows this, but it’s worth the look on Root’s face that she catches as she trails her fingernails harshly up bare legs as she returns upright to the table. As they wait for the fish course, Shaw crosses her legs strategically, the heel of her highly impractical heels (Root insisted) perfectly poised to graze the leg of Root.

Her eyes never leave Root as her throat swallows visibly, tendons tightening as she tenses slightly at the mingled sensation: the light graze of the rough heel.  
Root leans subconsciously closer to Shaw and Shaw wonders whether she’s close enough to touch.

She is. The outside of a thigh meets her wandering hand and as she finds a way under the edge of the ever so slightly too-high dress her mouth turns upwards at the slight hitch in Root’s breath. Shaw’s determined to see how high she can go at this trying angle and she’s not being gentle, her forearm tense as she digs her nails in with as much pressure as she can but it’s hard underneath the tablecloth and she’s thankful there’s no one sitting to Root’s right.

The higher she gets the more fascinated she is by Root’s face, the more appealing those lips are as they try desperately to maintain enthusiastic conversation. It angers her that those lips are so distracted, ignoring her attentions. She wants them focused on her. So she concentrates further on her actions, determined to draw out a sound from those lips that would shock the table. She suppresses a grin at the thought, ignoring attempts at conversation directed at her instead leaning forward onto the table to better angle her hand.

The wait is short, Root’s growing tension evident in her tightly strung body and the way her hand clasps her wine glass with vicious control. Shaw delights in the very audible gasp she draws from her as she finally reaches her destination, fingers leaving red welts in their wake. She delights even more in the instinctual reaction of Root’s legs to cross thus trapping her hand in place and she flexes her fingers slightly, grazing the edge of where Shaw suspects Root wants her most and the thigh grip tightens even while Root shoots a hand to grip Shaw’s wrist in an attempt to get her to stop.

Shaw smirks slightly at Root in triumph, her expression barely concealing hidden mirth, the challenge in her eyes meeting the attempt at a reprimand in Root’s.  And of course she flexes her fingers once more, unable to suppress the beginnings of a shit-eating grin as the grip on her wrist tightens, the thigh grip similarly tightening and there flashes the brief expression of unreserved pleasure on Root’s face, a sharp intake of breath echoing in Shaw’s ears while her gaze flickers to the ceiling as she loses the battle of composure.

When she meets Shaw’s eyes again there is only annoyed arousal burning in her glare. Shaw revels in her victory even as Root uncrosses her legs slowly, releasing Shaw’s now-red wrist with a deliberate graze of her fingertips trailing up Shaw’s arm, their eyes locked.

Root lifts herself from her seat with imposed decorum, her body fighting her measured movements every step of the way and politely, if a little hastily, excuses herself, shooting a pointed look at a smirking Shaw. 

Shaw contemplates leaving her to her own devices as she takes in the view over the rim of her glass, entertaining the thought for all of the time it took for Root to disappear out of sight before she herself stands up, stalking off to follow Root her own stride aggressive and purposeful. 

The whispers that follow her departure hardly even reach her ears and she rounds the corner, catching the tail flick of Root’s dress as she pushes her way into the bathroom.

Shaw violently pushes open the bathroom door, ignoring as it swings violently on its hinges and instead comes to an abrupt halt just out of Root’s grasp.

Root meets her eyes with a burning stare; her smirk fails to mask the tension stringing through her body as her arousal holds her to ransom and Shaw’s eyes light as she rakes down Root’s form. She lets a rare grin play at her lips and steps just a little closer, her own eyes dangerously distracted by Root’s swallowing throat, the exposed neck the styled hair affords drawing her attention.

But she waits, ignores her first instinct to take everything the moment she walked in that bathroom because she wants to see Root crumble first, and by the subtle hitch in her breath as Shaw pervades her senses Shaw knows she’s winning. 

Shaw comes to rest centimetres from Root, their bare arms brushing slightly sending Shaw’s senses on high alert. Her face betrays nothing, never breaking the heated gaze, the two women locked in an aroused stalemate: neither one willing to go over the edge but both desperately wanting the game to end.

Root caves first as her eyes dart to Shaw’s lips and Shaw catches the movement, allowing a victorious smirk to tug at her lips and Root breaks, pushed by the sense of urgency that surrounds the encounter and the bubbling arousal that’s been building the moment Shaw dropped that napkin.

She grabs for Shaw’s wrists, nails biting into flesh as she pulls her the short distance that closes the gap between their faces. Shaw’s smirk is gone as she pulls her wrists free and roughly grasps Root’s face, holding her in place. The kiss is rough and deep and forceful and Root viciously tears at Shaw’s bottom lip, drawing tighter grips and more insistent kisses from the woman as she pushes Root steadily backwards into the wall, their lips breaking as Root gasps at the impact. Shaw wastes no time, firmly gripping Root’s thigh as her left leg wraps around Shaw’s waist, using her right hand to slide up Root’s dress as Root nips incessantly at her neck. She kisses Shaw’s pulse point with fervour before clamping down hard earning her a sharp gasp and Shaw moves her neck away, reaching to recapture Root’s mouth as she harshly drives two fingers into the woman, Root pulling her lips away to gasp at the sensation.

And Root tries to keep sane but all she feels are Shaw’s curling digits as she uses her hips to push deeper and Shaw’s lips on her neck aren’t helping as Shaw roughly pushes the draping fur to the ground to gain better access, and Shaw wants more than anything to mark her but knows the other guests would know, knows what a risk that would pose if John or Harold saw when they returned so she settles for quick bites and rough kisses, nibbling at Root’s earlobe every so often and revels in the choked gasps it draws Root trying desperately to suppress her moans. 

Shaw’s pace is frantic but Root’s hips match her ardent movements thrusting in time and when Shaw’s thumb glances over her clit she can’t help but whimper, jutting her hips an extra fraction to gain more friction. Shaw responds in kind, giving her what she wants and Root’s nails hook under Shaw’s shoulder blades, grip tightening as she loses herself in Shaw’s movements trying desperately not to scratch Shaw’s bare back in an attempt to keep their activities hidden.

But Root’s whimpers turn more desperate as Shaw brings her closer to the edge hips now thrusting wildly and Shaw curls her fingers just right, thumb still working in unison and Root abruptly clamps down on Shaw’s shoulder to hide a groan as Shaw pounds at that perfect angle, drawing a grunt from Shaw as her own arousal spikes. Root releases Shaw’s shoulder, leaning forward onto the woman as her breathing quickens, whimpers becoming more frequent interspersed with soft moans that ghost over Shaw’s ear and she knows Root’s close as she feels her body tensing, grip tightening, so she leans into Root, arm pumping as she delivers deliberately powerful thrusts just _there_  pressing her nail into that bundle of nerves in a combination that sends Root spiralling over the edge, gasping Shaw’s name in her ear before biting on her earlobe as she struggles to silently ride out her orgasm, hips thrusting in long languid movements as Shaw stills her fingers, head resting over Root’s shoulder as she breathes heavily trying to regain control of her own senses.

Root releases Shaw’s ear and pants, smile gracing her face. She places her leg back down steadily and Shaw slowly pulls her fingers from her, watching as Root opens her lips slightly at the sensation overcome with a need to restart the encounter once more. But she holds off, eyes trained to Root’s form as she leans against the wall, hair slightly out of place, lipstick smudged and faded, eyes lidded smirking at Shaw and Shaw goes to the nearest sink to wash her hands, wondering when she began to appreciate Root’s minute details: when she began to care beyond the once in a while, the world is ending fucks they shared and started to tease, to play Root’s game: to indulge.

Root drags her from her thoughts as she steps up behind her already looking presentable once again- fur and makeup rearranged, dress straightened out- and rests her chin softly on Shaw’s shoulder her face the picture of contentment.

Shaw glances to her right looking into Root’s eyes, and the scarcely hidden adoration she finds there terrifies her.

She looks away scowling at the mirror and Root chuckles, raising her head and kissing Shaw’s cheek softly and with such tenderness before walking towards the door, heels echoing in the silent bathroom and as the door shuts with a soft thud Shaw doesn’t move to follow, instead staring at her reflection watching the crease in her brow soften as her scowl inexplicably lightens.


End file.
